A/N: STILL A REPOST. But again, I've done serious editing and reworking to much of this chapter as well as the first one, some more total rewriting, and have again pronounced it fit to be read by the public (lol). Reviews are greatly appreciated, even if they're only one short sentence. I'm always trying to improve. Hope you enjoy!

--

Weeks passed.

Harry was silently frantic with nerves about the ball. What if he looked stupid? What if he tripped over his own feet again, at least once during every song, like at last year's ball? It was unheard of. He couldn't mess this one up. He had to impress.

During the past month, Harry had been a wreck. Getting less sleep than usual from staying awake and agonizing over Hermione had affected even his normally oh-so-sunny personality; he had become steadily grumpier and grumpier to everyone—except to her. With her, he simply became quieter and quieter. He never asked her for help with homework anymore, even though it was crunch time—the last month of school, and exams were coming up faster than anyone cared to think about. But Harry didn't ask Hermione for help once. Ron, on the other hand, was all over her—getting as much help as he could from her, having study sessions with her (Harry didn't want to think about what went on during those), sitting extra-close to her in the common room, at meals, and during classes. Harry hardly said a word to either of his friends lately.

He was always strangely polite to Hermione, however. If Ron wasn't there yet, Harry would always make sure she was sitting beside Ron. The redhead, totally blissful in his oblivion, didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, being preoccupied with Hermione. But she noticed. She didn't say anything to Ron or to Harry about it, but like Harry, became quieter over the weeks. Harry couldn't tell if she appreciated his efforts, albeit small, but he continued with them.

He did know one thing—she didn't want him anymore. She acted so coolly towards him; sometimes Harry didn't know whether they were really even friends anymore. They rarely spoke outside of the casual 'hello's and conversation about class work. Aside from Hermione catching him looking at her a few times, they barely interacted with each other at all. They were around each other a lot—Ron couldn't notice a change—but they weren't nearly as close as they used to be. Harry wondered if they ever would be again. Or if he'd lost her entirely.

The day of the ball was drawing nearer and nearer, and Harry had no one to go with. Finally, with one week to go, he gathered up his shot nerves and decided to ask someone. If Hermione saw him come in alone she'd think him even more pathetic than she did already. Harry coughed, cleared his throat, dragged his fingers through his hair to get it out of his face, and started walking down to the common room, planning on asking Parvati or Lavender—or whoever else he saw first. When he reached the bottom of the stairs he headed for the couch to wait, but started in surprise when he found someone sitting there already.

"Ginny, are you okay?"

Ron's pretty younger sister jerked her head up at him, startled. Tears stained her face. "Yes, I'm fine, thank you," she sniffed, desperately trying to gain control of herself. She brushed away the unshed tears and smiled shakily. "Hi, Harry—sorry for letting you see me like this—"

"It's fine," Harry said, his eyes wide. Well, this was awkward. "Er...what's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing—I think Dean and I just broke up," she said, her voice wobbling slightly before she coughed and straightened up, moving out of the curled-up position she'd been in. Harry felt extremely uncomfortable. What was he supposed to do in a situation like this?

"Er...I'm sorry. Are—are you okay?" he asked, not knowing what to do. Ginny nodded.

"Oh, yeah! I'm fine," she said, scrubbing her cheeks with one sleeve. "Really. Hey, want to go to the ball with me?"

"Want to what?" Harry stammered, his eyebrows shooting up until they were almost lost above his hairline. "I—"

"If you don't want to—I'm sure you already have someone to go with, but as I don't anymore, I thought I'd ask."

"No—I don't, actually. That would be—okay."

"You will?"

"Yeah. Yeah, sure," Harry said, nodding and swallowing. He hadn't even considered Ginny. Thoughts of Ron's possible disapproval swirled around in his head, but he sat down beside Ginny when she patted the seat by her on the couch. She curled up against him immediately, staring into the fire so its light reflected in her eyes. Harry, still not fully knowing what exactly was called for here, lifted his arm and rested it on the back of the couch so that Ginny could lean up against him without his shoulder getting awkwardly in the way. She did so, and sniffed softly. "You sure you're okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said, her voice cracking suddenly. "It's just that it was going so well—we'd only had little spats, nothing major. And we were just getting more serious—or at least I was getting more serious about him—and then we started fighting because he thinks I flirt with other guys too much, but I don't, and it kept getting worse...and he just told me an hour ago or so that he wasn't taking me to the ball if I was going to be so—so—" She broke off, took a deep shuddering breath to calm herself, and promptly burst into tears. Harry, alarmed to the point of wanting to be almost anywhere else, patted her head awkwardly.

"Yeah...well...I dunno what Dean's problem is, but...sounds like he was being a bit over-the-top, so maybe...maybe he wasn't good for you anyway?" Harry said, shrugging uncomfortably. Ginny looked up at him with huge, tear-filled eyes.

"You've always been so good at making me feel better, Harry," she said quietly, sounding watery, and slipped her arms around his middle, nestling up against him. Harry had never felt so extremely awkward and pleased with himself at the same time before, and therefore still couldn't figure out what exactly to do, although he seemed to be doing alright so far. He looked at the fire. It was always burning there. Somehow it made him feel better to know that at least one thing at Hogwarts was constant. This whole tearful-girl-pressing-up-against-him situation was making him desperately uncomfortable.

You wouldn't be complaining if it was Hermione.

Harry glowered at the return of that stupid nagging little voice at the back of his head. He didn't like it much at all.

Oh, admit it. If Hermione was crying on your shirt you'd be fine with it.

Harry sank a mite lower into the couch cushions and stared sulkily into the fire. Ginny chose this opportunity to give a barely-audible little sob and snuggled even closer into him. If anyone walked in...

What are you doing, going to the ball with Ginny? Do you think that will make Hermione jealous and solve all your problems?

Harry almost groaned out loud. Oh, shut up.

--

It was the night of the ball.

Harry straightened his collar for the fifteenth time in the past five minutes. He wanted to look his most impeccable for the ball that started in—he glanced at the clock on the wall beside the mirror—two minutes. He wasn't going to make it in time for the start – that was obvious, and fortunately, planned upon. Ginny wanted them to make a little entrance, by being late in fashion or something. Fashionably late, that was it. Harry shook his head in slight exasperation at her insistence.

xXx

"If we're going to go to the ball together, I want it to be special!" she said firmly, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one could overhear them. "I'll meet you by the portrait hole at nine-thirty, okay?"

"But...the ball starts at nine."

"We'll be fashionably late, Harry!" Ginny chuckled, rolling her eyes. "No one will come right at nine anyway, only losers who have nothing better to do."

There is nothing better to do, Harry thought. "Not true," he protested mildly, not just in self-defense. Hermione and Ron were going at nine, like most of Gryffindor. Ginny looked skeptically at him, lifting an eyebrow and laughing.

"Whatever. We're going at nine-thirty, unless you want to go alone."

"Fine, fine..." he consented, shrugging. Didn't much matter to him, as long as he had a date.

xXx

Harry coughed nervously and wiped beads of sweat off his forehead with his sleeve, then wiped the sleeve on a towel hanging by the mirror. Nothing could look out-of-place or disheveled for the ball. He wanted to impress this time—not like the End-of-Year Ball last year; that had been a disaster. He'd tripped over his own feet almost more than Ron had, and had ultimately proven himself to be the world's biggest klutz. He'd gone with Hannah Abbot—not an experience he wanted to repeat. It was not the best date he'd ever had; not that he'd ever had many good dates at all.

He paced the dormitory alone, pushing thoughts of Hermione out of his mind and attempting to think about Ginny. Nevermind that it wasn't working very well. All he could see when he closed his eyes was soft brown curls and that sparkle in her eye when she'd told him, "You're fidgeting." Harry felt his mouth go dry. The last thing he should be thinking about right now was Hermione, but she filled his thoughts. He wanted her, needed her. Loved—but he wouldn't allow himself to even finish that thought. Ridiculousness. They'd spent one real evening in each other's company over the past several months, and had barely spoken in the month that had passed since that night. Harry despaired that she would ever look at him with anything but cool detachment in her eyes again. He was disgusted with himself.

The minutes ticked by faster than he could follow. In what felt like thirty seconds, he looked up at the clock on the wall—it was nine thirty.

--

Harry looked on wistfully as Hermione conquered the dance floor in the expert arms of Lee Jordan. The pair whirled about to the fast-paced tango, neither of them once missing a beat. It was amazing to watch—for everyone who wasn't completely mad for one of the dancers. Ron, sitting beside Harry, felt somewhat of the same way, and was following their movements with a very mournful look on his face. Harry glanced at his friend and elbowed him. "Oh, stop crying, she came with you," he said with a forced smile. Ron gave a short grin.

"Yeah...I guess. I just can't dance a bloody step," he said dryly. Harry shrugged.

"Neither can I."

"But Ginny can't either, so it doesn't matter for you. Just look at Hermione."

"Yeah..." Harry didn't need to be told to—he hadn't been able to keep his eyes off her the whole night. In fact, Ginny, on his other side, turned towards him rather irritably and frowned.

"Harry, will you please dance with me for once?"

"This song's too fast," he said without looking away from Hermione, then flinched and turned to Ginny when she hit his arm lightly. "What?"

"You've said the same thing for every dance!" she exclaimed, exasperated. "Too fast, too slow, too weird—are you even listening! What is wrong with you tonight?"

"Nothing!" Harry said, his eyes back on Hermione. "Just gorgeous..."

Beside him, Ginny turned bright pink and looked delighted. "Thank you!" she giggled, brushing his arm and looking down at her lap with a smile on her face. Harry looked round at her and paused, confused, then realized he'd said it out loud and flushed.

"Er—y-you're welcome," he stammered, coughing. PHEW! He mentally wiped sweat off his brow. He'd been thinking of Hermione, of course, when he said that a moment ago. It was the luckiest break he'd ever had that he hadn't actually spoken her name as well. Too close a call, he decided. Harry stood up abruptly. He had to get his mind off of her. "Drink?" he asked Ginny cheerfully. She smiled up at him.

"Yes, if you don't mind," she said, looking pleased. "Another lemonade if there's any left."

"Nothing ever runs out here," Harry winked, and started to leave. Ron tugged at his dress robes.

"Mind grabbing me a Butterbeer while you're at it?"

Harry sighed. "Am I just the busboy for the table now?"

Both Ron and Ginny broke out into identical grins. "Yes," said Ginny cheekily.

"Wankers, the pair of you," Harry said flatly, shaking his head and chuckling, and made his way over to the drink table. He was so intent on pouring Ginny's lemonade without spilling it everywhere that he didn't hear the person come up behind him and tap his shoulder. He was inexplicably startled and accidentally did what he'd been trying to avoid. Lemonade seeped over the white tablecloth, the stain slowly spreading. A wand flicked out.

"Scourgify," muttered an all-too-familiar voice. "Hi, Harry."

Harry turned to look down into warm brown eyes that still dazzled him. She was smiling. She hardly ever smiled at him anymore; not since...no! No thinking about that night! He scolded himself firmly. Hermione tilted her head slightly and asked a question with her eyes. Harry shook his head slightly in dismissal. Hermione's expression smoothed and she smiled again. It was amazing how they communicated almost without words, even after so long with little to no interaction. Perhaps that was why—they'd learned how from a month's practice. "Hi," he said finally. Hermione laughed.

"Having fun?"

"Well...sure, I guess," Harry shrugged. He glanced at the table beside him and picked up the two glasses full of lemonade. "I'm supposed to take this to Ginny."

"Yeah, I was getting something myself...back to the table together?" Hermione said, laughing a bit nervously, and Harry nodded, following her when she turned with her drink towards the tables around the edges of the Great Hall. When they saw their table from a few feet away, Dean was standing by it, having what looked like a heated argument with Ginny. Ron was nowhere to be found. Harry and Hermione slowed down worriedly, unsure of what to do. Suddenly Ginny stood up and slapped Dean across the face as hard as she could. Everyone in the immediate vicinity stopped what they were doing and stared. Harry's eyes nearly popped out of his head. Dean snarled something, then stormed off in a fury. Ginny whirled around, saw Harry, and started weeping uncontrollably. She fled in the opposite direction. Harry looked round at Hermione in total shock and bewilderment, and she shrugged helplessly. Ron came up behind them.

"What's going on?"

"Ginny slapped Dean—she just ran off crying over there," Harry said, and held up the drinks he was carrying. "I don't know what happened but they were fighting—"

"What?" Ron growled, and started stalking off in the direction Dean had taken when Harry hastily put down the glasses and grabbed the back of his friend's robes. Hermione took Ron's arm and made him look at her.

"Go see to Ginny," she said quietly. "She doesn't need you beating up guys for her, she needs your shoulder."

"Aren't you going to go see to her?" Ron asked Harry, who shrugged.

"I—I guess so. I'm not very good at this, though," he warned as he hurried over to her. She was sitting at a table with Luna Lovegood, her head buried in her arms, shoulders shaking. Luna looked up at Harry and shook her head, giving an apologetic little smile and shrugging as if to say 'There's nothing I can do.' Harry nodded and slid into the seat on Ginny's other side, hesitantly touching her arm. Luna silently retreated, leaving the two of them more or less alone in the corner of the room. Ginny peeked out at him, then quickly covered her face again, sobbing even harder. Harry patted her back a bit and murmured, "It's okay, it's okay."

"It's not okay," came the muffled reply, along with a sniff. "He hates me."

"Dean doesn't hate you..." Harry said, not actually having the foggiest idea of Dean's point of view. "He's just angry. What...what were you two fighting about, anyway?" he asked carefully, trying not to upset her. He was still patting her back, and it seemed to be helping. The shaking had calmed.

"He—" Ginny said, hiccupping every so often, "He thinks I—I fancy you, which is ridiculous of—of course, and he's je-jealous, and he gets so mad and p-possessive that he makes me just want to scream at him, and he's furious that I came to the ball with you, says it j-just proves what he's been saying all a-along and I couldn't stand to hear him talking l-like that, he was m-making me feel so stupid...so I s-slapped him," she said, finally raising her chin onto her arms and glancing at Harry. A shaky, watery smile lit her pretty features. She wasn't one of those girls who got all blotchy and gross when she cried; she was a rarity that could pull off beauty even in tears. Harry would have had to be a complete dunderhead not to notice. But even now as a very (very, added the voice in the back of his head) pretty girl, his best friend's younger sister, poured her heart out to him, he couldn't help imagining what Hermione looked like when she cried. Red, puffy eyes and blotchy cheeks, the voice informed him. Harry smiled faintly. It was better that way.

"Yeah, I saw that slap. It was a good one," he admitted with a grin. Ginny laughed reluctantly and wiped her eyes with a napkin.

"God, I'm sorry. I'm such a mess lately. Ugh..." she said fretfully, looking around for something. Harry jumped to his feet.

"Oh! I'll be back in a second," he said, hurried back over to their own table, grabbed her drink from in front of Ron, and hurried back. He sat down beside her again and pushed the glass towards her. "Lemonade?"

Ginny laughed and accepted the drink. "Thanks. Listen...not that this isn't fun...but if you want to go, you can. You don't have to sit here with me."

"No, no—it's fine," Harry said. He wasn't even lying. He knew that if he left and was around Hermione instead, much worse situations could occur. Like Hermione spontaneously deciding to talk to him again. God, who knew if he'd be able to control himself?

"Harry, really—I think I just want to be alone right now," Ginny said, sounding lonely, and rested her head on her arms again, facing away from Harry. He stood up slowly, not wanting to leave her by herself like this. She shifted a little, sniffing. "Actually...could you, um...send Ron? Please?"

"Yeah. Yeah, of course," Harry said, patting her head a little awkwardly, and made his way over to the regular table.

"Ron, I want to dance!" Hermione was saying. Ron stood up with her, sighing.

"Fine, fine—" they saw Harry and stopped. "How is she?"

"She wants to talk to you," Harry said, looking at his friend. Hermione frowned slightly.

"Are you sure? Maybe I should...sometimes girls are better at—"

"She's my little sister," Ron said defensively. He glanced at Hermione, who nodded but still looked a little bent out of shape. He sighed. "What do you want me to do?"

"Nothing, you're right," she said, looking sulky. "I just wanted to dance and when you finally said okay you have to go see to Ginny."

Ron ran his fingers through his hair agitatedly, then lit up with an idea. "Look, dance with Harry. You'll dance with her for me, right?" Ron said, moving around the table and clapping Harry on the back as the black-haired boy mouthed soundless words of protest. "Thanks, mate," Ron smiled, and headed off to comfort Ginny. Harry turned to look helplessly at Hermione.

"Maybe we should just sit it out," he said nervously, moving to sit down, but Hermione had other ideas.

"Why? We have no reason not to," she said, eyes flashing momentarily. Harry winced inwardly, swallowed—hard—and nodded reluctant agreement.

"If you insist."

She took his hand—the buzzing in his stomach exploded into nervous tension at the touch—and led him out onto the dance floor. They had just found a small space when the song ended and a new one began. It was slow. Harry shook his head violently at Hermione and shrugged.

"Oh well, guess we can't dance now—er—what are you doing?" he asked, faltering as she took his hands and placed them on her waist, and then put her arms around his neck. Almost against his will and definitely against his better judgment, he started to sway to the music. She did too. Harry swallowed with difficulty. The lump in his throat felt about the size of a Hippogriff. He hadn't physically been this close to her since NO! He scolded himself again. Damn, damn, damn, he swore inwardly as he felt the strains of keeping his intense attraction to her at bay. She glanced nervously up at him, and they both laughed somewhat as they simultaneously acknowledged the gaping foot of space between them.

It was Hermione who acted on it and pulled herself closer to Harry, wrapping her arms more tightly around his neck. He swallowed again, trying and failing miserably to drown out his thunderous heartbeat that he was sure she and everyone around them could hear. He desperately tried to block out the rush of memories that were flooding back; memories of her taste, her touch...if he leaned just a tiny bit closer—there it was. He could quite literally feel himself becoming intoxicated with her, just as he had a month ago. Breathing became more difficult. He could feel beads of sweat rolling down the back of his neck.

The biggest mistake he made, though, was looking down at her just at the same moment as she looked up at him. Topaz melted into emerald as their eyes met, and he found himself leaning his head down as she tilted hers up. The look on her face was the same one that she'd had just before she'd kissed him that night. Harry caught his breath. She still wanted him. Good lord, and he wanted her. They were holding each other so close. Her leg shifted against his as they moved and Harry slid his hands up her back, pulling her in. Her breasts crushed against the front of him. Their breath was mingling in the scant inches of air between them...something exploded in Harry's chest as their lips connected tremblingly for the tiniest of moments—

"Mind if I cut in?"

"BAH!" Harry yelped, springing away from Hermione as Ron's voice sliced through the moment from behind him. Had he seen it? Had he seen them? No, no, NO—but Ron was grinning good-naturedly. Oblivious. Harry almost fainted with relief and, out of the corner of his eye, saw Hermione nearly do the same. "Haaa...hi, Ron!" Harry gulped, turning around to face his friend and blocking Hermione, thereby giving her time to smooth her expression. "Yeah," Harry said in response to Ron's question. "Please, take her," he added with a shaky grin. "I'm trodding all over everyone's feet."

Ron laughed. "I can see you doing that, mate. Thanks for dancing with her," he smiled. Harry shook his head.

"Really, Ron—don't mention it." He glanced at Hermione, who looked at him. "It was my pleasure." Harry didn't break eye contact with her while he said it. Hermione blushed slightly and lowered her gaze down to the floor. Ron didn't notice the meaning behind the exchange. How could he?

"Ginny wanted to dance with you," Ron said, tilting his head towards Hermione in a clear indication that he wanted to be left alone with her. Harry nodded and backed away, then turned and made his way through the crowd to the table where Ginny still sat. He slid into the chair beside her.

"Want to dance?"

She smiled. "Okay."

He led her onto the floor as the music switched to a fast waltz. Taking her hand and putting one hand on her waist, he whirled her about like everyone else who was dancing. Harry was surprised to find himself actually remembering which steps came next, quite unlike last year. He only had to look down at their feet twice, and didn't tread on Ginny once. All in all he was very proud of himself. He was letting loose a bit and even beginning to have fun when they waltzed past Ron and Hermione. Just at that moment, the crucial one during which Harry and Hermione's eyes connected, Ron leaned down and kissed her full on the mouth.

Harry felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. An instant later his two friends were out of sight, but the gut-wrenching feeling of sick jealousy only intensified. Harry guided Ginny to the side of the room as the song ended, sat her down and mumbled something about needing air, then somehow managed to stay upright as he strode quickly from the Great Hall. Once he was outside in the gardens he stumbled, searching numbly for a place to sit down. He found it on the edge of a fountain.

Harry sank his head into his hands, elbows on knees. He couldn't keep on like this. It was mad. It was beyond mad, it was ludicrous. Ridiculous. It made no sense. A month ago, two months ago, he was fine. Hermione was just Hermione. But now she was Hermione. Harry groaned. He needed a break. He needed to get away from all this, from her, from Ron, from that kiss that was making his insides churn and writhe. He shook his head, still in his hands, eyes closed. What was wrong with him? How was it humanly possible for him to be so intensely attracted to someone he'd known for so long this suddenly? All because of one night that he had slowly started to regret—or feel like he should regret. The fact of the matter was he couldn't really regret it at all. Not while he still remembered the feel of her mouth on his, the feel of her fingertips pressing into his back, the taste and scent of her, her skin—

Stop it, he warned himself. Mustn't get lost in all that again. He was concentrating so hard on not thinking about her that he nearly gave himself whiplash when his head snapped up at the sound of her voice calling his name.

"Harry?"

"What?" he croaked, his own voice not working properly. It was probably a side effect of what he'd seen scant minutes ago. He saw her walking towards him, and looked away. He couldn't stand to look at her right now.

"Harry, I—"

"Don't bother," Harry said sulkily. Hermione put her hands on her hips and stood over him.

"Will you just listen?"

"I saw you, all right? What does it matter?" he retorted bitterly, still not looking at her. Hermione's eyes flashed.

"I'm trying to apologize here! The least you could do is hear me out!"

Harry reluctantly looked up at her. "What?"

She glared down at him. "When Ron kissed me, I pushed him off. I didn't enjoy it; I didn't just let him go on. I don't want you to have the wrong idea."

"Well, it's not as if we're dating or anything, what do you care?" Harry said scathingly.

"You know, it's nice to be liked," she said suddenly, hugging herself. "I don't know if you've noticed, with your sulking all the time, but Ron's been so attentive to me. He pulls out my chair, he always sits beside me, he goes out of his way to make time with me by studying, for heaven's sake, and this past whole month all you've done is sit in silence and sulk!"

Harry stood up in her face. "Oh, that is bullshit. Ron doesn't have a clue about how to treat—"

"Well at least he shows that he likes me—"

"Do I have to spell it out for you? Is it not obvious?" Harry cried. That shut her up. For a split second he was satisfied, and then he looked more closely at the astonishment in her eyes. It wasn't POSSIBLE that she hadn't known...all this time...? "God, Hermione," he rasped, his voice leaving him again. She was altogether too close for comfort. "Do you really think I didn't care?"

There were no words to express the emotion in her eyes. So, she didn't use any. Hermione reached out and touched Harry's cheek, and he closed his eyes, turning his face into the palm of her hand. She drew him in and he kissed her with bruising force. God, how good it felt to do it again. Harry inhaled and smiled without breaking the kiss, bringing his arms up around her back and crushing her to him. His body had ached for the feel of her; now he had it. It was—if at all possible—even better than he remembered. Hermione wrapped her arms tighter around his neck, deepening the kiss. When she finally pulled herself away, Harry buried his face in her shoulder, hugging her close. "I'm sorry," he murmured. She shook her head.

"Don't be, it's okay. Just...maybe we should find a less...out-in-the-open area to do this, shouldn't we?" When Harry looked at her with one eyebrow raised, Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "Not that," she said, flicking him on the forehead. "Just if we're going to tell Ron...I don't want him to find out this way."

"Yeah, I know, me neither," Harry sighed, reluctantly letting go of her. "Wait a minute, though. So...you really had no idea I still...?"

Hermione faced him. "I couldn't tell if you did or not. You were so quiet...I thought...maybe you regretted it. I knew Ron still fancied me, it was even more obvious than usual."

"Well, Ron has no subtle bone in his body."

"At least he knows how to be honest about his feelings."

"Don't let's start this argument again, Hermione, please," Harry begged. She looked at him skeptically. "We're just going to end up fighting and the same thing that happened last time is—"

"Oh, so you think we should keep everything a secret all over again, do you? Is that what it is? You're too afraid to tell Ron you want me?"

"No. I just—I don't know..."

"Do you want me or don't you?" she asked, jutting her chin out at him and planting one fist on her hip.

Harry felt heat rise in his collar. "Er." Yes. Overwhelmingly, unutterably yes. But that wasn't something you just out and said. He coughed. "Er, um." Why did she do this to him? Render him totally useless for regular conversation? Surely she knew the effect she had on him. That was part of the reason he'd been so quiet with her this past month—he kept getting tongue-tied around her.

Hermione took a step forward, invading his personal space. Scant inches separated them now. She leaned in close, softly pressing her lips to his jaw line, and he was swamped with buzzing tingles. Holy jumping Hippogriffs. What a woman. "Well?" she asked, her voice low and husky. Harry had never seen this side of Hermione before. Where the hell was it coming from? Surely it wasn't him bringing it out in her? But then again, maybe it was. Merlin. Now she was softly kissing his throat, and hell if he was going to let her get away with that so easily. Harry wrapped one hand in her hair—giving no thought to the long process it had probably taken to get it done up all fancy for the ball—and pulled, so that her face was turned up to his and he could see fully the expression on her face; parted lips, slightly glazed eyes, spots of colour highlighting her cheekbones. Harry kissed her mouth again and felt her yield under him. It was intoxicating.

When they broke apart for air, one of her arms wrapped so tightly around his neck that she was nearly lifting herself off the ground, errant locks of her hair falling down around her face, her lips swollen from the kiss, Harry very nearly fell over. He didn't know what had got into them, Merlin only knew, but boy was this fun.

"I'll take that as a yes," Hermione grinned, her eyes hooded and lazy with satisfaction.

Harry grinned back. "Do," he said. "You were right, though. We shouldn't do this where everyone can see. Don't need another Rita Skeeter getting wind of this."

"No, indeed," Hermione nodded, reluctantly letting go of Harry. She heaved a sigh as she picked up a lock of her straying hair and let it drop. "Well, so much for three hours of letting Lavender and Parvati abuse my head."

Harry suddenly felt suspicious. Was this a situation where the girl was fishing for a compliment? Should he tell her she looked nice anyway? She did look nice anyway. His gaze raked over her in appreciation. All disheveled and swollen-lipped and breathy. He'd never seen a girl look better, as a matter of fact. Right, er, compliment. "You—you still look nice," he said, and cringed inwardly as he heard himself say it. It sounded forced even to him. Why was he bollocks at talking to girls? It was just Hermione!

Maybe that was it, he told himself. Maybe he just needed to think about it like he was simply talking to his friend. Harry cleared his throat as Hermione arched an amused eyebrow. "I mean...it doesn't matter you're all, er, rumpled. Not that you are. Er. You just look...very good. Anyway." He let slip a little sheepish smile. Hermione blushed. Success!

"Thank you," she said, and Harry beamed. "I know I'll never hold a candle to someone like Ginny, but it's nice to know I clean up well at least."

Harry took a tiny step back, looking at Hermione incredulously. "What?"

She shrugged, the movement small. "I don't know. She's much prettier than I am, and she's had heaps of boyfriends. I wasn't surprised you took her to the ball, really."

Harry's eyes widened, then narrowed. "Hang on...are you saying you're jealous?"

"Of course I'm jealous, you imbecile," Hermione muttered darkly, blushing and not meeting his eyes. "Was it not entirely clear that I've fancied you for months?"

"How long exactly was it?" Harry asked curiously.

"Never you mind. Stop sidetracking me—the point is we both came with other people and that was stupid."

"Agreed," said Harry fervently. "Ginny asked me, actually. She was all upset over Dean not taking her and I said okay because otherwise I wouldn't have had anyone to go with, and—I thought I'd look like a wanker coming alone," he muttered. Hermione snorted.

"Oh, yes, quite. Instead you decided to come with one of the prettiest, most popular girls around our age, and rub that in my face."

"Well, you were coming with my best mate! I wasn't exactly well pleased with the arrangements, either!"

"Harry, please," she said.

"Honestly, Hermione—you'd think what happened meant nothing to you, the way you've been acting." When Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and just looked at him, Harry swore under his breath—why was she so frustrating? Why was this all so difficult?—and turned around to face away from her, to feel the cool night air on his heated face. And froze. His chest constricted—all the blood drained from his face and he turned paler than the moon that was hanging silently among the stars, high up in the dark night sky.

Ron stood watching them from about fifteen feet away, a look of incredulous disbelief on his face.